They’re infamous, in their native L.A., for throwing beer parties after their shows. And their name just begs you to kick them around. But the wistful Mutts have been seasoned by their years in scuzzy clubs, and — oh, just buy Stinko’s Ranch, whose scruffy guitar rock rings with more fun, more heart, and more polished songwriting than 95 percent of the stuff major labels put out. Or do I have to sit up and beg? A